


I am Mostly Scared by Passing Time (the World, it Seems, Gets More Unkind)

by FrostyGalaxies



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Derealization, Hurt/Comfort, Maybe - Freeform, Panic Attacks, So much angst, everyone needs a tubbo i think, guys please i dont know how to tag this, have fun i hope i make you cry, i dont know if it technically counts as that but tagging just in case, i think, im so sorry guys, ranboo centric, tubbo is a great friend, yeah panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyGalaxies/pseuds/FrostyGalaxies
Summary: There really was no easy way to explain that he was pretty sure he was being controlled by Dream, even from the prison, and was unconsciously working to break him out of there and that he had been the one to blow up the community house and that he had been the one to help set up the tnt cannons that caused the destruction of L’Manburg and that he doesn’t remember large portions of his days and he wakes up in places he didn’t go to bed and his tools have way less durability than they should and he wakes up smelling like gunpowder and with obsidian in his inventory and he’s terrified of what he’s doing and of going to sleep so he tries not to sleep for as long as he can until he passes out from exhaustion and he’s so scared all the time? But how was he supposed to say all that?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smtih | Tubbo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	I am Mostly Scared by Passing Time (the World, it Seems, Gets More Unkind)

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from the song It's Ok, I Wouldn't Remember Me Either by Crywank
> 
> Also this was lowkey inspired by a painting I did which you can find on twt here:https://twitter.com/iseeyousinning/status/1364953011957694466?s=20
> 
> Anyway enjoy the fic, I might make it multiple chapters later but probably not idk it depends what yall want lmao

It’s dark. It’s really dark in his room and it’s almost suffocating. His book sits on his bed next to him, open to a blank page with his pen capped and resting in the crease of the spine. He’s trying to remember what he did today but he just can’t. It’s all coming up blank. All he knows is that he woke up in his basement and it was pitch black outside. He didn’t fall asleep in his basement. He didn’t remember it being this dark out. 

Hands shaking, Ranboo picks up the pen and uncaps it, taking his book next and pulling it into his lap. What does he remember? He twists the pen around in his hand as he thinks, chewing on his bottom lip slightly from the anxiety coursing through him because he just. Cant. Remember. He just needs to remember. 

“Ok, Ranboo, think,” he tells himself, frustration pooling in his gut, “what were you doing before you went to bed? Um...” he flipped back a page in his book, scanning the writing there. He had tended to the cow farm, taken Enderchest on a small walk, had a conversation with Techno (though he didn’t write down what they talked about so he assumed it wasn’t important). But everything after that was fuzzy. 

He remembered going to bed and then... a voice? His pickaxe? He couldn’t be sure, but the durability did seem to be lower than normal. On top of that, his ears were ringing, like someone had just clapped right next to them. Like they were for days after L’Manburg’s destruction. And that scared him. He didn’t *own* tnt, why were his ears ringing like he had set some off? Now that he looked around, he noticed his white floors were marred with grey. He didn’t want to get up and see what it was, but the smell of gunpowder lingered in the air.

Swallowing, he gripped his pen tighter and scribbled in a font much messier than he would normally in his panic: “my ears ring and I smell gunpowder. Did I blow something up? I don’t want to know if I did because that could be really, really bad, but...” he put the pen down and closed the book. Couldn’t look at the page any more without wanting to throw up. Even just holding its leather bound pages in his hands caused guilt to pool in his stomach, so he set it down on the bed beside him. 

The patch of grey on his floor seemed to stare at him, burning holes in his skin the longer he sat trying to ignore it, tail swishing and ear twitching in anxiety. 

“It’s gotta be nothing, it’s gotta be nothing,” he muttered to himself, trying to reassure that it wasn’t what he was scared it was, it wasn’t! It’s just a patch of dirt on the ground, he must not have wiped his feet clean enough when he came in! Yeah, yeah that was it! That had to be it. It had to. “You’re going to get up, and go over there,” he continued, now wringing his tail in his hands, “you’re going to go over there, and you’re going to check it out. And it’s going- it’s going to be nothing! Yeah. Yeah it’s going to be nothing. Ok.”

His legs shook as he pushed himself up from his spot on the bed. What if his fears were confirmed? What happened then? Would he have to leave his home again? Go even further away and start from scratch, erasing all the friendships he’d made and all the progress he’d had? He didn’t want to think about that. Thinking about that was too much. But he had to know. Because if he decided to just ignore it then things could get, somehow, worse. So he found himself next to the powder on the ground, crouching down and swiping his finger through it. It was grainy and grey and, bringing it up to his nose, smelled exactly like he feared it would. Gunpowder. 

Suddenly, the room seemed twenty degrees colder. The pit in his stomach seemed to cave further and he felt panic seeping into him. He had to leave. He had to get out before he hurt anyone. He was dizzy and scared and didn’t know how he could go on when he had possibly done something catastrophic. But the minute he stood, his vision started going blurry and the last thing he could recall before it went completely dark was the floor coming closer and closer.

=======

Footsteps in the snow, accompanied by a soft, silent crunch, carry a young boy forward. He’s only a teenager but he’s done terrible things that even he doesn’t know of. His hands have lit the tnt that started a battle of immeasurable devastation. A battle that destroyed his home. His friends' homes. His life. But now he does not think of that. Now his mind is blank. Now he walks with a purpose that he will forget the minute he wakes up. 

His hand grips a book tightly, a thing bound in scratched and damaged leather. A thing that’s seen years of wear and tear. A thing that’s held secrets and passed hands it was never meant to pass into. 

He stops walking, dual colored eyes settling on a figure in front of the tree line. Time stills as a round, floating, smiling head tilts to its side, innocent expression taking on a cruel glint, a malicious undertone. The enderman walks forward, hands holding the book out to the other figure. Neither of them speak as he takes the book and opens it to the marked page:

⊑⟒ ☍⋏⍜⍙⌇ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⊑⟒’⌇ ⎅⍜⋏⟒. ⊑⟒’⌇ ☊⏃⏁☊⊑⟟⋏☌ ⍜⋏. ⟟ ⋏⟒⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ⏚⟒ ⋔⍜⍀⟒ ☊⏃⍀⟒⎎⎍⌰. 

The figure reads this over twice before once again turning his gaze to the figure in front of him, ripping the new page out, and handing the book back. 

“Thank you, Ranboo,” he says, and it’s unclear where his voice is coming from, “this will be helpful.” 

“⟟ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ☍⟒⟒⌿ ⊬⍜⎍ ⎍⌿⎅⏃⏁⟒⎅, ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔,” he spoke in a language used only by the end people, a floaty thing with sharp edges and an almost melodic cadence. 

“You’ve never failed me before.”

“⍙⊑⟒⋏ ⎅⍜ ⟟ ⏚⍀⟒⏃☍ ⊬⍜⎍ ⍜⎍⏁? ⌇⍜⍜⋏?”

“Within the week, I should think,” Dream said and his form flickered slightly as a breeze blew past, losing its solid appearance and revealing itself as simply a projection. “Thank you for reporting to me. You’re a good friend.” And his form flickered once more before disappearing entirely.

Almost like he was sleepwalking, the enderman turned and walked back home.

=======

Ranboo woke up far away from his home. He didn’t know where exactly he was, but the trees and other landmarks were unfamiliar to him so he assumed he was far. He was cold, too, so he must have been here a while, and snow was just beginning to fall and he didn’t have his armor with him which would become a problem if he didn’t find somewhere to take cover soon. He couldn’t see footsteps so there was no way of knowing which direction he had come from, either they’d been covered up or they had been snowed over. 

“Welp,” he said aloud, not talking to anyone, “I guess I should just... pick a direction and start walking, then.” And so he turned slightly to the right and started walking. 

It was difficult to tell how long he’d been walking. An hour? Two hours? Time was difficult to follow but the sky was dark now and the moon was high so it must have been a while. He was shivering and the snow that had been steadily falling had started soaking its way into his jacket and stinging his skin, his legs were sore and he was pretty sure the tips of his ears and nose were frostbitten. He just wanted to go home. 

The clicking bones of a skeleton came from somewhere behind him, but he paid it no mind, the thing would leave him alone as long as he didn’t look at it, most mobs did. He didn’t mind that they didn’t jump to attack him, it was useful most of the time, let him avoid unnecessary damage. Sometimes, though, he wished they’d attack him immediately, that way he wouldn’t be seen as something else, something not quite a person. It wasn’t like he didn’t pick up on the way people looked at him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He knew it wasn’t meant with ill intent, but telling their eyes on him made his skin crawl, and that was nothing compared to actual eye contact. Especially when his gaze accidentally paralyzed the other in place. Thankfully, though, that’s only happened a handful of times that he can remember.

Above, the moon hung bright and full bellied, casting a silver glow through the spruce that served as the only beacon of light for, as far as Ranboo could tell, miles around. The moon was something Ranboo admired, how she stayed above it all, indifferent to everything going on and in the shadow of her brother, the sun, yet still so powerful in her own right. It reminded him of a time before all this mess, a time he couldn’t remember but that he could recall only in vague impressions of moments lost to time. Moments that feel like home. Moments that feel like a tight hug and a warm blanket after a long day. Moments he aren’t even sure really happened but are fun to imagine anyway. 

And it’s quiet, too, aside from the various mobs making their noises, he can almost hear the twinkling of the stars overhead. The unfeeling, unloving stars. Eyes in the sky that blink idly down at you and watch as you suffer and don’t offer a hand or help or a shoulder to cry on. And the snow crunches under his feet as he walks on in the same direction he’d been going in for hours. And he shivers. And he tries to keep his eyes open but he’s *so cold* and he’s *so tired* and all he wants is to go home and see his cats. See his friends. Be warm again. 

“Ranboo?” An accented voice some distance away calls out and he turns his head toward it. “I thought I heard someone walking around! What’re you doing out here?” They approach Ranboo at a light jog and it’s now that he registers who it is. Tubbo. He must be close to Snowchester. How had he gotten so far from home?

“Tubbo..?” His voice sounds weak even to his own ears and, distantly, he registers the concern that now laces his friend’s face. “I don’t.. I’m not-“ he tries to explain, but the words fall flat and his mind isn’t working, isn’t connecting any of the dots. He feels lost and he knows his face shows it. 

“C’mon, big man, you look like you’ll freeze to death if you don’t get inside soon,” Tubbo takes his wrist and begins dragging him toward what Ranboo can only assume is Snowchester. He sees the soft lights of the lanterns in the distance and he has to wonder how he missed it. But he trusts Tubbo, so he allows himself to be dragged, doesn’t have the energy to protest, really. 

As they walk, Tubbo fills the silence with nonsense ramblings and weaves them out of the path of monsters, he doesn’t ask questions or expect Ranboo to respond... and it’s nice. It’s nice to not have to engage. To tune out. 

They’re in Snowchester before he can even register it and he’s being led up a staircase and into a cabin that’s warm and smells like home. And he’s being sat down on a couch and given a blanket and then another blanket and he thinks he heard Tubbo say something about hot chocolate so he smiles as much as he can and nods.

“Here,” Tubbo says a few minutes later, handing the enderman a steaming mug which he takes with a small ‘thank you,’ and sitting on the sofa arm, sipping from his own mug. Ranboo could tell he wanted to ask more questions but held back from doing so, which was nice. The silence wasn’t as oppressive as before. 

Their mugs were both nearly empty by the time Ranboo, distracted by Tubbo’s bouncing leg, glanced up to his friend and took in his expression. He was looking at his mug and had a smile on his face, but Ranboo could see the worry behind his eyes and suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

“What? Why?” The other looked at him quizzically.

“For this,” he gestured vaguely to himself and his predicament, “being a bother, showing up unexpected, making you go to all this trouble.”

Tubbo laughed at that, which took the enderman completely off guard. “It’s alright, big man, I don’t mind!” He laughed a little more and Ranboo turned his gaze toward his empty mug. “Though, I am quite what you were doing out there,”

There it was. The question Ranboo had been dreading because he didn’t even know the answer to it himself, so what was he supposed to tell Tubbo? That he was just in the area? That he wanted to drop by with zero warning at all?

“I, um,” he started, unsure what he was going to say just yet, “I was trying to get home.” 

“Home? But Snowchester isn’t anywhere near your home? And you looked like you’d been out there for hours! Ranboo what’s going on?”

He wished he could say. He wished he knew. But there really was no easy way to explain that he was pretty sure he was being controlled by Dream, even from the prison, and was unconsciously working to break him out of there and that he had been the one to blow up the community house and that he had been the one to help set up the tnt cannons that caused the destruction of L’Manburg and that he doesn’t remember large portions of his days and he wakes up in places he didn’t go to bed and his tools have way less durability than they should and he wakes up smelling like gunpowder and with obsidian in his inventory and he’s terrified of what he’s doing and of going to sleep so he tries not to sleep for as long as he can until he passes out from exhaustion and he’s so scared all the time? But how was he supposed to say all that? He couldn’t put all that on his friend! Tubbo already has so much on his shoulders running Snowchester and dealing with the aftermath of the final disc war, he shouldn’t have to worry about Ranboo’s problems too. 

“I, um,” he started to say, ducking his head down so he wouldn’t have to meet his friend’s concerned gaze. The last bit of hot chocolate in his mug seemed to taunt him. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. He didn’t know, not really, but he could guess and he didn’t like his guesses so he wouldn’t say them aloud. “I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

Tubbo hummed lightly at his response, clearly not satisfied with the answer he was given. He wished he could say more, make his friend stop worrying, but he’d already put too much on him tonight by showing up out of nowhere. 

“I think you do know, big man,” said Tubbo after a moment's silence passed them, and Ranboo hunched further in on himself because of course Tubbo would keep pressing. Of course he would. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

He wished he could say. Wished he had the words. But his voice was failing him. He opened his mouth to speak but the words wouldn’t come out. He tried again, but nothing. Tubbo slid off the couch’s arm and into the spot next to him, wrapping his arms around his tall and shaking frame. Ranboo leaned into the hug, only now realizing how much he needed someone to cling to, how starved of human contact he was.

“Sorry,” he managed to choke out between silent sobs. He didn’t even know when he had started crying. “‘M sorry,” distantly he thought Tubbo might be trying to console him, tell him things were ok and that he had nothing to be sorry for, but he couldn’t hear it. He was so *tied* and so *scared* of falling asleep. He didn’t want Dream to take him over again, didn’t want to be the monster he was so convinced he was. He couldn’t hurt his friends more than he already had. He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t.


End file.
